You Left Me
by dhbPATHWAY1997
Summary: Spain and Romano think the same thing: "He left me." They haven't seen each other since Romano left to join his brother and become one big Italy. But it's getting to them both, and they'll have to face each other with help from Veneziano and France...
1. You Implied It

Spain's POV

The doorbell rang. Loudly, and obnoxiously.

I stirred, rolling over a bit as I registered the noise. Slowly, sleepily, I lifted my head and checked the clock on the bedside table. It was nine-twenty-seven. On a Saturday. Who the hell was trying to wake me up this early on a weekend, and how hard should I punch them in the face? Now, a couple of centuries ago, I hadn't been this violent, but my temper had been getting a little worse every year since...who knows. And some _idiota_ waking me up at nine o'clock on a Saturday didn't help.

I sluggishly rolled out of bed, pulling on a shirt to accompany my tomato-patterned pajama pants. I scratched my neck and yawned, then made my way out of the bedroom. The doorbell rang again when I was about halfway there, and I called out, "_Dios mío! Un momento!_"

I pulled open the door grumpily, and my mood worsened when I saw that it was France. He was smiling like there was no tomorrow, as well, which only pissed me off more. "_Salut, mon ami_!" France greeted happily, waving, although he was about four feet in front of me.

"Hi. Can you go now? I was trying to sleep."

"Oh, but Spain! I have come to tell you something important!"

I raised an eyebrow. "If you say 'hi,' I will punch you."

He laughed. "No, no, it's really important! I am going to start a war with you!" France said, pointing at me.

Through my sleepy haze, I rubbed my face and tried to take the Frenchman seriously. "What have I done now? Besides skipping out on the last few trips to the cantina with you and Prussia."

"Last few trips? More like last few _decades_ of drinking and merrymaking. But that's not the point." He waved dismissively. "No. This is over land!"

"Land?" I asked confusedly. "How long has it been since we fought over land? Two centuries, at least... Why now?"

"I want something you control, Spain. I've wanted it for a long time, and now I'm taking it!" France flourished his hands and posed dramatically.

I glared at him. "What is it? I'll give it to you if you go away."

"Well, now, where would be the fun in that?" France pouted. "And anyway, I think you'll want to fight for it." He gave me his most dramatic expression that was probably meant to make me quiver in fear and worry, but I yawned instead. "I want _Romano._"

My eyes widened, and my feet felt cold, despite the warmth of the sun coming in through the open door. My hand trembled a bit. France smirked, and I knew I'd given him the reaction he wanted. Pain like a stiletto knife sliced through my chest and I narrowed my eyes at France. "Very funny, _imbécil_. Nice of you to drag up the memories." I was about to close the door in France's face when he spoke, and his voice was so honestly curious, I had to stop.

"What? Memories? What are you talking about?"

I sighed. "France, you very well know that..._he_...hasn't been here for a very long time."

"What?" France looked genuinely shocked. "You gave him up?"

I seriously wanted to hurt him. Instead, I replied, "You don't get out much, do you, France?"

"Ah, well, I haven't been paying much attention to anyone south of me for a while. Sorry, _mon copain._" He looked sheepish. "What - what happened?"

I sighed again, a little angry. "No. I'm not going to talk about this, okay? I haven't had to deal with this in a while, and I've been perfectly fine. So just go, please. And don't bring that up again." I attempted to shut the door again, but France stopped the door with his hand.

He looked concerned, which was a look I hadn't seen on his face since he and I had tried to comfort England in...goodness, wasn't that 1783?

Slowly, he spoke. "Spain... I thought I noticed something about you when I saw you just now... You look tired, or hung over, or both..."

I groaned. "France, I don't have time for this."

"What were you going to do then?" France asked skeptically. I looked away. "Can I come in, then?"

"Uh...no." Then I really did close the door in his face. I began walking back to bed, but knew I couldn't find sleep again, so I started for the kitchen instead to start making some coffee. At least France was gone, I mean-

The door opened. _Maldito_, I cursed to myself. I leaned against the counter, just waiting for him. Then I realized - the living room. "_Maldito_!" I hissed out loud.

"I told you not to come in here, France!" I barked, meeting him in the living room. I wasn't surprised to see him looking around the room, sadness or maybe quiet horror on his face. He surveyed every flat surface, where empty or mostly-empty glass _aguardiente _bottles stood, lining bookshelves, coffee tables, and even the floor. I rolled my eyes, trying to play it down. "Yeah. I've been drinking a little."

"A little?" he repeated incredulously, and I could hear now the horror. "Spain, this is..." He turned to face me, picking up a bottle. "How long have you been like this? You've seemed fine at all of the meetings..."

"That's because I _am_ fine!" I shot, scowling a little.

"You are _not_ fine, Spain. How long have you been drinking so heavily?" France demanded, his usually jovial voice deadly serious.

I hesitated. "A while. I don't know how long it's been."

"Spain, can I be honest with you?" France looked cautious and concerned again.

"I'm afraid to say _sí_, but _sí_."

He sat down on a couch and I took a seat in the plush chair next to it, yawning again. "Spain, you are pale. Your tan is gone, _ami_. You have bags under your eyes. You probably haven't shaved in a week. You look like a homeless man."

My expression got a little more devestated with every word. "Look, you don't have to tell me that."

"_Oui_, I think I do..." said France, looking around the room again. "You've been like this since Romano left?"

I winced. "Yes. Thank you for bringing it up again."

"Goodness... You're not normally this bitter and sarcastic, Spain... Is it just because you're hung-over?"

"Yes. Now please leave me alone."

"No!" He stood up, looking determined, and I raised an eyebrow at him. "We need to get you to go talk to Romano! And conquer him!"

My eyes widened. "Um."

"That's not what I meant, you dirty-minded fool," France said fondly, grinning. "I _meant_, you must take him back over!"

"And why is that?" I asked sardonically.

"So that _I _can conquer him afterwards, of course!"

"Why?" I repeated, getting annoyed.

France collapsed onto the couch again. "Because I'm so desperately bored!"

I rolled my eyes, leaning my head back in the chair. "You came to wake me up and tell me you were going to conquer...him...because you were _bored_?" I sighed. "What's Prussia doing?"

"He's still trying to get Hungary to love him," France whined, covering his face with his arm. "And England's visiting Japan right now, so I needed something to do! You understand, don't you, _mon ami_?"

"No, I don't. And I'm not going to talk to him. He grew up, and decided he wanted to leave. He moved back in with his brother. He's happy, okay? Can't I leave him like that? Happy?" I pleaded.

"But _you_ are not happy," replied France, lifting his head to look up at me. "Don't you deserve to be happy?"

"France, this is what's best for him. I tried to raise him like a son, or a brother, but when he got older, I couldn't see him that way. And he _hates_ me. I'm just a tomato bastard, remember? He wanted to go back to Veneziano, and he did. He's so happy, I haven't seen him since!"

France gave me a look that I couldn't decipher. Then he stood up. "No. We are _cleaning you up _and then you are going to go and tell him you love him!"

"I NEVER SAID THAT!" I yelled as France approached me, pulling me out of my chair by my arms and then hauling me over his shoulder. He began to carry me to the bathroom, presumably, but he had something else coming if he thought I was going to let him anywhere near me while I was in the shower. We were close friends, but not _that_ close. "AND PUT ME DOWN!"

"You implied it," replied France happily. "You'll thank me later."

"_IMPLIED IT_ MY ASS! PUT ME DOWN!" I began hitting on his back, and France just chuckled.

Damn it...


	2. You Remember It

Romano's POV

"_Fratello_?" called Veneziano from the kitchen in his annoying voice. "Do you know what happened to all of my tomatoes?"

I took a large bite of a large, very ripe tomato, and after swallowing quickly, yelled back, "No idea!"

"Are you sure? I was going to make Germany dinner tonight, and-" he poked his head into my bedroom and pouted, seeing the four tomato crates sitting around, only two of them still full. "Romano-o-o!" he whined. "Why'd you take my tomatoes?"

"Because I wanted to eat them. Why else?" I muttered, not paying an ounce of attention to him and keeping my eyes glued to the TV for some cheese-grater-slash-vegetable-slicer thing.

Veneziano sighed. "Romano! I needed those!"

"All of them?" I asked, monotone.

"Well, no, but-" He stopped mid-sentence and I finally stopped watching the paid programming to toss a glance at my twin. He was wearing _that_ expression. I called it the expression of death. Sure, it got me off the hook for whatever crap I'd done to him that day, and maybe even for a little while afterwards, but it wasn't worth that _look_. It was so full of pity and concern that it would break the heart of anyone weaker than me, but even Germany would probably be begging for his happiness at that look. I rolled my eyes.

"It's one of your bad days again, isn't it?" he asked quietly, and I heard his voice getting thicker but yet higher-pitched.

"Don't say 'again' like they happen all the time, _bastardo_," I muttered.

"Oh, Romano. I'm so sorry. But..." he hesitated, then continued, "...doesn't eating tomatoes make it even worse?"

"Yeah. But it brings back memories. Even if they're painful, at least they're there, right? They happened." I heard Veneziano sob, and I looked at him again, startled. _Usually _he didn't cry. "What?"

"It's just...so sad..." he choked out. "You miss him so much...that you eat tomatoes...just because th-they're his f-favorites..." he sobbed. "It's so tragic!"

I sighed. "Veni... You don't have to feel sorry for me. It's my own fault. _I_ wanted to leave, so I did."

He sniffled and wiped at his eyes. "Do you regret it?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "Sometimes. But it doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?" my brother climbed up onto the bed, which irritated me for a moment, but I let it go. I hadn't talked about him in a _long_ time, and even though it hurt, and it was stupid, I figured I might as well. I could at least be angry that way.

"Well, if that bastard's happy enough without me, why go and bother him, right? I mean, you don't see him begging me to come back, do you?" I scowled. "He's better off not having to watch me."

"But you're grown up now, _fratello_! He wouldn't have to _watch_ you. You'd just be together! And he loves you, right?"

"Wrong!" I exclaimed. "Wrong!" Veneziano looked confused, so I explained. "How would you feel if one day, Germany owned you? Then the next day, you left, and you expected to be happier. But you weren't. And he didn't come after you. How would that feel, Veneziano?"

Veneziano thought about it, more tears forming in his eyes and then falling to his cooking apron when they became too large. "It would hurt. Because I would think that Germany didn't care that I was sad."

"Exactly. Would you feel like he didn't love you? Even if he'd told you before?"

Veni paused, then answered quietly, "_Sí_. I think I would."

"See? He doesn't love me. I'll get over it. He doesn't matter. He's just another country." I turned my attention once again to the paid programming and took another bite of the tomato, even if I was starting to get sick of the taste.

But my brother was never the brightest of countries, and didn't get my hint to leave. So, of course, he had to speak. "But you grew up with him, Romano! He's important to you!"

"_Was_," I corrected. "Now, he's a memory. The past. Aren't you supposed to let go of the past?" I asked drily.

"Only the bad stuff! The good stuff, you need to hold on to, and let it fill you up and make you happy!" He illustrated this opinion, moving his arms over his heart and head and then all around him.

"Mm-hmm. You do that."

"Romano..." he groaned. "Come on! You're sad! Why don't you talk to-"

"NO." I threw the tomato back into the crate and sat up so I could look at him eye-to-eye. "There is no way in _hell_, Veneziano, that I will _talk_ to that bastard."

He pouted a little, his tearstained cheeks glistening. "Why not? You could tell him how you feel! And maybe he _does_ feel the same way! Maybe he's _realized_ that he was in love with you, too!"

My lip quivered once, and I turned away from him. "No."

"But why not?" he pressed.

"_No_," I insisted. 

"Why not?"

"NO!"

"Why not?"

"BECAUSE HE BETRAYED ME!" I finally shouted. "OKAY, VENEZIANO! IT'S BECAUSE HE BETRAYED ME." Veneziano was finally quiet, staring at me with wide eyes, and I sighed again, angrily. "Grandpa Rome never wanted _me_, he wanted _you_. When you came back, we were all just beat around by bigger countries, including _him_, and then the Austria-bastard took you, and I was alone again, left to be fought over by those assholes. After everything, I eventually ended up living with him. And I never told him, but I _liked_ it. He took care of me..."

I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. "He raised me. Not well. But he did. I never wanted him to be my brother, or my father, though, because..." I looked up at Veni, who looked at me curiously, and I dropped it. "Never mind. Anyway, one day, I grew up. And it was time to come back to you, so we could be a country together. I knew it was the right thing, the _only _thing I could do, but I still wanted him to fight for me..." I said quietly. "I thought he would try to stop me. I thought he would come after me, and demand that I stay, or ask, or beg me to stay. And I probably wouldn't have," I admitted. "But I would have stayed _near_ him. I would have seen him. But instaed, he let me go. He let me waltz off back to you and become one big Italy and never said anything. He must not have cared as much as he always said, huh...?"

Veneziano and I were both silent for what had to be about ten minutes. Then finally, Veni said slowly, "You really loved him?"

"_Sí_. Why?" I replied shortly.

"Well, you were always insulting and hitting him and stuff. I thought you didn't like him, until you left and got all sad..."

I sighed yet again. "I didn't want him to know. Especially when I was younger. It was...embarrassing," I admitted. "And _so_ awkward."

We were silent again. Then of course, Veneziano broke it again. "If you saw him, right now, what would you say to him?"

I took a moment to think. "I think... I would argue with him. About him letting me go."

"And then?" Veni prompted.

"What do you mean, 'and then'?" I asked incredulously. "Then, I...well, I guess I'd see what he had to say. And then I'd tell him that I love him. Maybe. That depends. If he wants to be a bastard about it, then I would resolve never to see him again."

"Oh, now you're just being all overdramatic, _fratello_!" Veneziano crossed his arms, pouting again. "You would gasp, and then leap into his arms, calling to him that you love him with all of your heart! And then you'd go and eat some pasta."

"_Now_ who's being dramatic?" I yelled, my face as red as my favorite food. "I would _not_ do that."

"Well, whatever," Italy said flippantly. "You're yelling, so you must be okay now. I've got to go and finish the spaghetti for Germany. Can you believe he's never had it before?" he looked appalled.

"Yes," I said dubiously. "He's a stupid potato bastard. Where would he have eaten spaghetti?"

"Don't call him that, Romano! You're so mean!" He took a crate of tomatoes, and then got up off of the bed, exiting my bedroom. Then he poked his head back in, smiling, and I knew we were both okay, for now. "But good luck."

_Good luck_? What the hell did I need good luck for? Before I could yell my question at him, a ray of sunshine coming in through an opening in the curtains shone on a tomato, highlighting its brilliant crimson color, and I thought back to a moment from long, long ago...

_"Roma! Look at the tomato plants!" Spain called from outside. I took a break from digging through the cabinets and shuffled outside on my small, stubbly legs. _

_"What is it, bastard?" I demanded. _

_"Look!" he pointed towards the garden he'd completely devoted to growing tomatoes after I'd come to live with him and decreased the demand for tomatoes a hundredfold. "Look at how well they've grown! We should start picking them." Spain smiled at the ripe red tomatoes, bigger than my little toddler hands. They looked humongous to me, and I was so excited to eat them, but I didn't show Spain._

_"Yeah. They're _stupefacente_," I told him, sounding apathetic and sarcastic. But when he offered one to me, I took a large straw basket and began loading the tomatoes into it, inspecting the beauty of each one as I placed it in. They were all scarlet and shiny, with bright green stems about the color of Spain's eyes. Once I'd filled the basket and then stacked several tomatoes on top of that, I started trying to hobble back to Spain's large _hacienda_. But I didn't get far. The basket was heavy, and I wasn't strong enough to carry it. Before I knew it, I was falling forward, trying desperately to hold onto the basket, lest a single fruit fall off of the carefully-arranged tomato pyramid I'd built._

_But before I could fall and drop the heavy basket, there was a strong arm steadying me. I gasped softly, startled. I managed to balance the basket, then myself, standing firmly on my two tiny feet. But Spain picked me up anyway, carrying me back into his home in his arm. "Too big of a basket for you, _mi poco de tomate_?" he chuckled. _

_"No! Shut up, bastard!" I huffed, blushing with anger. _

_He just chuckled some more. "Te amo, Romano." He said it casually, like saying "Hello," or "Vitamin A," and it made me wonder if he meant it, so boldly, I asked him._

_"You don't mean that, do you?" I tried to sound flippant, like it didn't matter, but I also sounded kind of accusatory. _

_"Of course I do, Romano. You're so special to me." He smiled then, in a way that I couldn't tell whether it was supposed to seem parental or like something else... But he seemed serious, so I just nodded._

_I blushed and looked away. "Okay." _

That was all I'd said. _Okay_. And he'd really looked genuine about it. What would I say if he told me that now...?

My thoughts and useless reminiscing were interrupted by the sound of my brother's and his boyfriend's voices. "GERMANY!"

"Gah! _Ja, hallo_, Italy," he said, sounding bemused. Veni had probably tackled him in a hug again and the potato bastard had probably lost his balance. "What's that smell? It's good."

"Oh, it's spaghetti! You told me you'd never had it, so I made it for you! Are you excited?" Veneziano sounded like he could just explode.

"Oh, um, yeah. Sure. I brought dessert."

"That's so sweet, Germany! _Grazie_!" There was the unmistakeable sound that told me that Veneziano had just kissed Germany, and suddenly, I felt horribly jealous. Well, okay, not of him being with the potato bastard. But that he _had_ someone like that.

For the first time, I realized that I didn't just love...him. I wanted him the way Germany and Veni wanted each other...as perverted as that sounded. I suddenly wanted to march over to his stupid country, bang on his stupid door, and force him to let me in so I could tell him that I freaking loved him. And if that bastard didn't love me back, well, that was his problem, because I wasn't going to just go and cry. I would try to get him to love me like he used to. Even if it meant squatting, putting on a dress and picking some stupid tomatoes for him.

Was it pathetic that nothing in decades had ever made me want to go and see him, let alone talk to him, until I felt jealousy? Hell, I still couldn't even use his name. _Spain. Spain. Spain. _But thinking it wasn't enough...

"S-Spain," I whispered shakily. "Spain," I repeated in a stronger whisper. Then more of a murmur. "Spain." Quietly, "Spain." A little louder, "Spain." Louder, "Spain." Then I yelled, in triumph, "HA! YOU CAN'T BEAT ME, YOU STUPID BASTARD!"

"I HAVEN'T EVEN DONE ANYTHING TO YOU!"

"NOT YOU, POTATO BASTARD!" I yelled back. "Don't be so self-centered!"

I felt powerful. I would leave right now, for Spain's house. I would surprise him. I would tell him. And I'd be free. But first, I had to tease Germany a little more.

"YOU CAN'T THINK THAT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, MR. MY-LIFE-IS-WURST-AND-BEER!" I smirked, having real fun for the first time in a while.

Then there was a pounding at the door, which Veni had apparently locked behind him earlier. "WHY YOU!"

I just laughed. Already, I felt so much better.


	3. You Can't Help It

Spain's POV

"You've got to be kidding me."

"_Non, mon ami_!" France grinned, straightening my tie. "You look _fantastique_!"

"Fantastic?" I snorted. "Right. _Gracias_ for everything, but a suit is too much."

France had left me alone (_gracias, Dios mío!_) so I could shower and shave, and while I'd been busy, he had apparently cleared out all of the _aguardiente_ bottles that had been collecting dust on my furniture and on the floor. Then we'd had a very long conversation about everything that had happened and how I should make it right. He'd also apparently just happened to have a full suit with him in his car, and after washing it and then ironing it, France helped me put it on and tie the tie, then while I combed out my hair and tried (unsuccessfully, in the end) to neaten it, he ran out to the florist and got me a bouquet of red roses to give to Romano when I saw him.

We were only a few minutes from leaving, actually. But then he dropped it on me.

"The suit is _not_ too much. You can return it later." He turned and grabbed his car keys off of the low table by the door. "Well, I guess I'm off. I'll see you later, Spain! _Bonne chance_ _avec_ Romano!"

"Um. What?" I asked as he opened the front door. "You're not _leaving_, are you? I thought you were going to come _with_ me to see him!"

"No! You have to do this on your own, or you'll never grow from the experience!" He acted like he was an all-knowing teacher and I was a kindergarten student.

"'Grow from the experience'?" I repeated. "Is this suddenly having to do my own math homework all over again?" I demanded, putting my hands on my hips. "You can't let me try to do this alone! I'll completely screw it up!"

"No you won't, _mon ami_! I have complete faith in you!" he grinned, and I wondered to myself just where his mind had gone.

"So you're just going to leave."

"_Oui_."

"I'm going to have to do this on my own."

"_Oui_."

I looked at him, not angrily, but sort of incredulously. "Right. Well, see you at the bar tomorrow night, then. Usual meeting place?"

France rolled his eyes. "If you really want to come drinking with Prussia and I again, it will be a wonderful thing. But I don't think you will be trying to 'drown your sorrows' or anything. I have faith in you."

"All right, fine. Out. You've messed with me enough. It's almost six forty-five. I'm leaving at seven, right?"

"Yes! That way, you will be in Italy by the time the moon is at its height, and its light will shine down upon you like the chosen lovers! Trust me, _mon copain,_ it will be _parfait_!"

I smirked at my old friend who had helped me through so much in only a few hours. "It will be a frozen dessert?"

He grinned at our old inside joke. "_Oui. _The most _parfait_ of the parfaits!" And with that, he was out the door and I was alone. My smile stayed on my face for a moment before slowly slipping off. What did I do now...?

I stepped in front of the mirror hanging by the front door and inspected myself critically. The suit was fine, everything ironed crisply. The tie was bright and straight and the shoes were shiny ebony. I was, I had to admit, a little paler and thinner than the last time Romano had seen me, but I was still toned, with the same muscular build I'd had before. My eyes were a little duller, but I was sure they looked more lively than they had this morning. My hair was its normal messiness, and I let that go.

I sighed. There was no stopping it. I had to go now. I gathered up the bouquet of roses, my car keys, my cell phone and, once I'd slipped my phone into my pocket, I checked my watch. Seven-oh-two. Time to go.

I opened the door, and stepped out, looking down at where the doorknob had been, so I didn't know that there was a person there until he gasped. I looked up, shocked. It was him. _Romano_. My eyes widened, and his did, too. It had been so long... And it wasn't only me that changed. He looked a little paler, too, maybe a little thinner, in the waist. But he was so filled-out and lean as compared to how he'd been as a child, that it was still amazing to me to see him all grown up. I hadn't really gotten to spend much time with him as an adult, but I'd fallen in love with him in that short time - I couldn't deny that.

I felt horrendously overdressed in my suit and tie and shiny shoes. Romano was wearing old Bermuda shorts, slip-on shoes, and a yellow foorball t-shirt with what seemed to be a small tomato juice stain by the neck. We both shifted a little, analyzing the other.

"Sp-Spain..." Romano whispered, sounding shocked. His face lit up red. "Um..."

"Romano," I returned. "You're...what are you doing here?"

"Oh, well, uh..." he looked awkward, and suddenly unsure of himself. "I came to...talk."

"Talk?" I asked, curiously, wondering what he was here for, and hoping he wouldn't figure out what I was doing with a fancy suit and flowers.

"_Sí_. Could I, um, come in?" He looked anywhere but my eyes, where I wanted him to look, so I could guess what he was thinking.

"Yeah...I guess. Come on in." I tossed the roses onto the small table along with my keys and removed my cell phone from my pocket, tossing it aside with the other things. Then I took a seat on the closest couch, and gestured for Romano to join me. He did, slowly, making each step look purposeful and cautious.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" I asked, trying to look relaxed. "It's been a while since I saw you. You still look good."

He blushed furiously. Did he still hate it when people complimented his appearance? One day he'd _have_ to give up and realize he was attractive. "Oh...so do you. Look attractive, I mean," he babbled. "You look, um, good." Then he looked irritated, but more with himself than me.

"Did you forget something here, all those years ago?" I asked.

"No...more like I _left_ something behind," he started hestitantly.

"What do you mean? What was it? Maybe it's still in your old room. I haven't really...well..." I paused. "I haven't been in there since you left, so I don't know what's still in there or not." I tried to talk as casually as I possibly could, struggling against my rapid heartbeat and strung-out nerves to sound friendly and hospitable, rather than nervous and full of longing as I was. I wanted to pet his hair, like I would when he was little, stroking the reddish-brown locks and arranging them.

"Well, it's not an object..." he replied slowly. "I left...um..." Finally he looked up from his hands and straight into my eyes. "I left you."

I gasped. His eye contact plus his words left me speechless for a moment. Then I blinked, and managed, "Wh-what do you mean...?"

He sighed, sounding angry. "I'd really hoped you'd just guess what I meant."

I wasn't going to get my hopes up, but if he was saying what I _thought_ he was saying... "Do you regret going back to your brother?" I asked quietly.

He looked surprised. "Oh. No. I don't. It's better that I'm a whole country with Veneziano. But..." he hesitated. "I shouldn't have...just left. I guess I just..." His hands suddenly clenched into fists and he raised his voice. "No. I'm not going to say that it's all my fault. It's yours, too!"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, feeling a little hurt.

"Yes, I left, because it was the only thing I _could_ do!" Romano exclaimed. "I'm Italy, too! It's not just my brother! We're two halves of a whole! I had to complete him! But _you_!" He got louder again. "_You_ could have chased after me! _You_ couldn't have stopped me, but you could have slowed me down! You could have kept me close, and you _didn't_. You let me go back to Veneziano and leave you. You didn't do _anything_!" he yelled.

"Romano-"

"No! I lived with you for most of my growing up! I had my brother, but only long-distance. I had you all the time! You were the first one - the _only_ one - that I felt really cared for me! And then I left and you just _let_ me. You let me just walk away like it didn't matter! Do you know how much that hurt, you bastard?" Tears formed in his eyes and I was shocked. I hadn't seen Romano cry since he was really little.

"There. Now I'm done," he said, bitterness in his voice.

I couldn't figure out what to say. I couldn't burst right in and tell him that I loved him. I got up off the couch and I felt his eyes on me as I moved over to the table by the door again, picking up the bouquet and carrying it over to him. I held it out, and it took a moment or two before he tentatively reached out and took the roses. He looked confused, but still angry, and almost suspicious.

"Today, France came to see me," I started, and Romano lifted an eyebrow. "I haven't seen him since the last world meeting. He said that he'd come to take you away from me. He was dead-serious, too. He didn't know you'd ever left. When he came in, he got really concerned. There were _aguardiente_ bottles all over the room, most empty. The house was clean enough, but there were bottles, and old pictures and broken glass all over the place in a couple of rooms."

"You've...you've been drinking?" Romano asked, sounding concerned, too.

"A lot. I didn't realize how much. I'd get into this really bad place, sometimes," I explained. "I'd stop caring about things. I'd think about you so much that it felt painful. I wouldn't do _anything_, sometimes for days. But France helped me clean up, and he let me talk about it with him. I told him that I wasn't sure anymore why I'd let you go. Eventually, I remembered that it was because I thought you'd be happier. Because it was your choice to go back home to your brother. I still thought, today, that you'd be happier. I was going to go to Italy tonight, and talk to you about the same thing you wanted to talk about. I didn't know you weren't happy."

"You're damn right I'm not happy."

"I'm so sorry, Romano. I thought it was best for you. It was what you wanted. But I didn't want to let you go. And I _did_ come after you, just once. I made it all the way to Verona before I turned back. I just wanted you to be happy. _Te lo prometo_."

Romano had almost immediately taken back his tears, not letting one of them fall, but tears were forming in my own eyes now, threatening to spill over. I'd always been more emotional than Romano.

"I'm sorry..." I murmured. "_Lo siento_..."

"Don't make me comfort you, bastard..." Romano sounded a little awkward and resigned.

"Can you forgive me, Romano?" I asked, wiping at my eyes, but not able to stop the tears.

"Forgive you? For letting me leave?" He sounded almost surprised. "When I get into my bad times, I sit in my bedroom watching paid programming and eating tomatoes by the crate. I drive Veneziano insane. So I...I forgive you. Okay? So don't cry. That's stupid."

I looked at him, wiping my eyes again. "Okay."

We slipped into silence then. It was awkward and comfortable at the same time, and I wasn't sure what to do with it. So we both just sat there, probably both of us wondering what to do... I knew what I _should_ do.

"Romano?"

"Spain?"

We both said the other's name at the same time. We blushed and looked away. "You say what you need to say," I told him.

"No, you go first, bastard."

But I didn't. Neither of us said anything. More uncomfortable silence, and then I couldn't take it anymore. I had to say it, or I was going to die. _Maybe_ that was a little overdramatic, but I felt on the verge of a break, with my heart beating a million times a minute.

"_Te amo_!" I suddenly said at the same time Romano yelled, "_Ti amo_!"

We looked at each other in surprise. I looked right into his eyes and he looked scared. I had never seen him looking so laid-out and vulnerable as he was now, with wide eyes and a parted mouth. His eyebrows were slowly lowering to give him a confused expression. It was cute, but I couldn't register that at the moment. Had he just said...? At the same time I had just said...?

Then Romano looked suspicious, narrowing his eyes. "Are you being serious? You'd better not be messing with me."

"_S-Sí._ I'm serious, Roma. I...love you. I've loved you since before you left."

Okay. There. I'd said it. I was done. No more. This was killing me. How did he feel? How was he going to respond? Was he just going to leave? But then, he'd said it, too... Or did he mean that I was like a parent or a brother to him? That's how America and England had been... Well, until they got together. Now...I shudder to think. _Dios mío._ I could never look at England the same way again after that one time at the bar...

Suddenly, Romano reached out and pulled me toward him, wrinkling the suit under his fingers. He held me somewhat awkwardly against him and I felt myself blushing. "Um...Romano?"

"I love you too, bastard."

I tried to look up at him, but I couldn't, from my position. He put his head down on mine, and I could feel the warmth of his cheeks on my hair.

Trying to mock him, but also trying to keep it light for fear my voice would shake, I asked, quietly, "You're not messing with _me_, are you?"

"No," Romano said, sounding frustrated. "I'm serious, too."

"Well, okay."

And I left it at that. I relaxed into his chest a little more, letting myself close my eyes and smile, just a little bit. I'd never expected him to show up here, and I had been pessimistic about going to talk to him in Italy, too.

"Hey, does this mean-?" I started to ask, and he interrupted.

"Yes. We're a couple. Don't make a big deal about it," he muttered, clutching a little tighter, and I could hear his embarrassment growing. "Oh, and, um, Veneziano doesn't know I'm here."

I chuckled. "What, did you climb out of your window or something?" He didn't answer. I opened my eyes. "You did?"

"Um."

I laughed. "_Tu muchacho tonto._" He released me enough so that I could sit up and I took his hands. "Well, you're staying here tonight. And we can sit all night and talk and eat tomatoes-"

"No!" he interrupted. "If I eat one more of those things, I think I'm going to be sick. Another time."

"Then what do you want to do?" I asked, amused.

He didn't answer. Instead, he rested his head against my shoulder, leaning on _me_ this time. "I'd like to just stay here."

I couldn't help but grin. "Me too."

What had it taken him to come to me? Had Veneziano nagged him? Had Germany gotten onto his last nerve? Had he just missed me too much? I'd missed him, but I wouldn't admit that to anyone but France and Romano. And how was this going to work out? We'd spend half our time in Spain, half in Italy?

Romano sighed against my shoulder, and I felt him close his eyes.

Well, I guess we'd have to figure that out later. Right now, neither of us were going anywhere.

**A/N: Hey. :) So yes, I'm a Spamano fangirl. I had to do **_**something**_**, and that little Taylor Swift songfic that they shared with GerIta wasn't enough. Certainly not. And of course, I couldn't resist but put a little GerIta and USxUK in there, too. ;D This all just goes to show that I have no life. But that's okay. With any hope, I'll be putting some USxUK up soon, so if you're interested... :D Review! And thank you for reading!**

**Soy dueño de nada! (I own nothing!) **

**Translations: **

"_Non, mon ami_!" - "No, my friend!" (The same goes for "mon copain.")  
>"<em>Bonne chance avec <em>Romano!" - "Good luck with Romano!"

"_Parfait"_ - "Perfect"  
>"<em>Te lo prometo" <em>- "I promise"  
>"<em>Lo siento<em>" - "I'm sorry"  
>"<em>Tu muchacho tonto<em>" - "You silly boy"


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